


And then he felt nothing.

by ToxicPineapple



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Character Death, Cussing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: "Kid, you're going to be alright."He didn't sound like he believed it. He didn't sound like he believed it. Peter wasn't going to be alright.Oh god. Oh god. May. Ned. Oh god."I-I don't know what's happening, Mr. Stark, I don't feel alright, I don't feel alright."Peter couldn't talk. He couldn't speak.Fuck.---What I imagine Peter is thinking as he dies.[INFINITY WAR SPOILERS + i didn't watch those bootleg spidey deaths on yt so the quotation is probably inaccurate chill out]





	And then he felt nothing.

It felt scary.

 

Peter had been afraid before.

 

Peter was always afraid of something.

 

That was why he wore the mask, because he didn't want them to see.

 

He didn't want anybody to see.

 

Not his enemies, of course not.

 

But more important: not his friends or anybody who cares about him.

 

Not Aunt May, not Ned, not Michelle.

 

Not Mr. Stark.

 

But yeah, he was scared.

 

He was more scared than he had _ever been._ Never in his life had he ever been so scared.

 

Seeing other people dust? That was fucking terrifying and Peter wasn't afraid to say so.

 

He wasn't ashamed to say so.

 

But then a tingling sensation started on the back of his neck.

 

And it spread to the back of his head.

 

And his chest.

 

And the pit of his stomach.

 

Even the little caves between his toes felt it.

 

He knew it was his spidey senses telling him something was wrong. He bit back the urge to  yell that of course something was wrong, people were vaporising into ashes in front of him.

 

But then the tingling feeling started to _hurt._

 

Sometimes when he was crossing the street it felt like somebody was stabbing him and he knew that something was about to kill him and he moved out of the way of the car barreling down the road.

 

But it had never been so overwhelmingly painful before.

 

It had never felt like... like it did.

 

If Peter had to articulate it, he would describe that he felt as though every single particle of his body was trying to separate.

 

Everything he was, everything he believed, it was slowly dissolving into a thousand tiny pieces.

 

It was like he was being torn apart limb by limb, and then those limbs were being shredded until they were nothing but a fine, red and blue powder.

 

How could he...?

 

He stumbled, and then looked to Mr. Stark, who had a stunned expression engrained into his features as he stared at where Doctor Strange had been sitting.

 

Oh no.

 

Oh no.

 

Oh no.

 

He had to tell Mr. Stark.

 

"Mr. Stark,"

 

How did he ever speak? How did he ever say what he felt? It felt like if he opened his mouth, he would be letting go of everything he was so desperately trying to hold together, and he'd disintegrate.

 

"I don't feel so good."

 

His words came out choppy and he clutched his gut, falling forward. Mr. Stark's eyes flashed- if Peter hadn't been so focused on keeping himself together, he might've been able to read to distress in his mentor's gaze.

 

But fuck, it hurt so bad.

 

Stark was moving forward.

 

"Kid, you're going to be alright."

 

He didn't sound like he believed it. He didn't sound like he believed it. Peter wasn't going to be alright.

 

Oh god. Oh god. May. Med. Oh god.

 

"I-I don't know what's happening, Mr. Stark, I don't feel alright, I  _don't feel alright."_

 

Peter couldn't talk. He couldn't speak.

 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 

He was being held tight, strong arms wrapped around his midsection. Peter vaguely registered that the arm he didn't use to hold his gut was gripping the back of stark's shirt as hard as he could.

 

Oh god, it hurt. Oh god. Oh god. He was being torn apart. He was breaking. He was _breaking._

 

Was he being maneuvered? He couldn't tell.

 

Peter grabbed Mr. Stark's shoulder and pulled himself back, forcing himself to swallow the pain and look into his eyes. He had to say something.

 

He had to say something.

 

This wasn't Stark's fault.

 

This wasn't... it wasn't...

 

He didn't want to leave him, oh god, he shouldn't have come.

 

He had to tell him it wasn't his fault.

 

He had to make sure he didn't blame himself.

 

Say something.

 

Say something.

 

"I don't wanna go."

 

Oh, you fucking idiot.

 

But to Peter it was the truest thing. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die.

 

He was sixteen, he didn't want to die. He had so much to do.

 

So many people he hadn't helped.

 

Aunt May needed him. Ned needed him.

 

Mr. Stark needed him.

 

Stark wouldn't admit it but he did. He needed somebody to treat him like an idol, like he was important, like he wasn't... like he wasn't an idiot, Peter didn't know.

 

But he knew, he _knew_ people needed him. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

 

"I don't wanna go, I don't-"

 

He choked on his words, and felt his back hitting hard ground. Stark's hands were still holding him. He was holding him.

 

For a minute he was there.

 

For a minute he was being kept there.

 

Stark wouldn't let him go, wouldn't let him die.

 

As if spurred by the thought, a new wave of nausea overtook Peter and he said nothing, trying to cope with the pain. Trying to keep it from overwhelming him.

 

He was being _torn apart._

 

He was going to _die._

 

This was it.

 

He'd never get to see Aunt May again.

 

He'd never get to make another lego structure with Ned.

 

He'd never- oh god, MJ...

 

Focus, you ass. Focus.

 

Peter felt like if he said anything else, he'd lose control. He should've dusted by now, but it was sheer willpower alone that let him hold himself together.

 

Maybe he should try to hang on? Maybe they could save him?

 

But he looked at Stark and he knew.

 

Through the blinding pain he saw so much desperation lining Mr. Stark's face. This was tearing him apart. He wouldn't survive. It might as well have been him that was disintegrating and not Peter.

 

...fuck.

 

Fuck.

 

He had to be Spiderman.

 

He had to be Spiderman.

 

He can't be Peter Parker right now.

 

Peter Parker was a crying kid. Spiderman was a hero. Spiderman sacrificed himself. Spiderman would not be selfishly trying to let himself live when he knew he had to say something to Stark, to spare his conscience.

 

What could he say?

 

Damn it.

 

Damn it.

 

SAY SOMETHING, PETER.

 

BE SPIDERMAN.

 

Spiderman wouldn't lose himself like this.

 

Spiderman wouldn't be so selfish.

 

Peter took a deep breath, and then he let go of the effort to keep himself together and put all the effort he could into saying this.

 

Two words.

 

Two words, damn it.

 

All his strength went into two words.

 

"I'm sorry."

 

He saw Stark's face crumbling, but beneath the pain was something familiar. Something that characterised his mentor.

 

Peter knew what it was.

 

Peter had seen that face before.

 

He couldn't formulate enough thought to decipher it, but he'd seen it.

 

Peter felt the wind on his face.

 

He felt Stark's hands on his arms.

 

He felt the dusty ground beneath his body.

 

He felt the pain, the raw, burning pain of being torn apart.

 

And then he felt nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> i would imagine, given that peter is a selfless person, that his final thoughts wouldn't be about his own wellbeing. idk, these are just my sentiments.
> 
> leave a comment if you have the time of day!! i love reading your feedback.
> 
> also, i wrote this with no caps again so if there are any proper nouns in lower case, that's my bad.


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